


The Day of the Sunflowers

by misura



Category: Big Wolf on Campus
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-13 17:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/139832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flowers say it with pots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day of the Sunflowers

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted May 2007

There was a medium-sized sunflower standing in the middle of the street. Its pot suggested it had been raised by a family with at least one seven-year-old who considered herself a budding artist - or perhaps the pot had been bought at the Arts and Pottery Fair a few years ago, as a typical sample of modern art.

"All right, that's it, we're doomed."

Tommy ignored Merton for the moment, instead studying the sunflower some more. It looked - well, Tommy couldn't claim he was any kind of expert, but it looked pretty normal to him.

"So long, cruel world, and thanks for all the episodes of _Superunnatural_ that were based on fact, instead of things the makers just thought would look cool and - yes?"

"Merton," Tommy said. "It's just a sunflower. I think the two of us can handle it."

"Tommy." Merton gave him a Look. "Which part of that whole 'power to the sunflower' speech we just heard didn't you understand? It's _not_ 'just a sunflower'. It's a 'superior member of the floral tribe, destined to rule the world'. Well, that, and to wipe out mankind for their sins against plantkind."

"It was just a guy in a funny costume who said that," Tommy pointed out reasonably.

"Okay, then how do you explain the fact that there's a sunflower standing in the middle of the street?"

"Maybe someone dropped it," Tommy suggested. "I mean, it's not like it could have _walked_ here or something, is it?"

"Well, let me put it this way: how likely do you think it is that someone dropped a potted sunflower in front of us _and_ a few meters behind us _and_ on the porch of your house this morning?"

Tommy turned around, slowly, and stared. A rather large sunflower, this one in a huge, solid-looking no-nonsense pot stared back. It didn't _look_ dangerous, but Merton did have a point; it hadn't been there a few seconds ago.

Odd, perhaps, but not exactly cause for alarm, Tommy assured himself.

"Uhm, Tommy."

Tommy was half-turned when he saw something moving from the corner of his eye - something tall, with a green stem and a large, yellow flower that was lifting a pot that Tommy definitely didn't want to get hit by, whether or not their biology-teacher had assured them the stems of most plants were too weak to grow beyond ten inches without some sort of support, which made what he was seeing definitely something impossible. Too bad the sunflower didn't seem to realize that.

"Run!"

Merton dodged just in time to avoid the artistic pot. "I never even kept any plants! And I'm not a vegetarian!"

They ran.

 

"All right, so we've got a group of people calling themselves 'the servants of the flower', we've got sunflowers taking over Pleasantville, and we've got absolutely _no_ idea what's going on," Tommy summarized, moodily sitting down on one of the less Gothic chairs in Merton's lair.

"I think you described it rather accurately, actually." Merton looked up from the book he was browsing and frowned. "You know, this whole thing kind of reminds me of that 1974 movie _The Day of the Sunflowers_."

Tommy sat up straighter. "They made a movie about something like this? What happened?"

Merton shrugged, returning his attention to the book. "It was a total flop. I mean, killer cabbages, yes, killer sunflowers, no. They got some great actors, though - and I've heard they used over a hundred pounds of sunflowers during the shooting. According to the rumors, in 2006 NightmareWorks considered a remake, with a soundtrack by the Sugar Girls and Eddy Irish doing the main-character's voice, but they changed their mind because several organizations threatened to sue them for slander against nature."

"I mean: in the movie. What happened _in the movie_?"

"Oh." Merton blinked. "The sunflowers won."

"What?"

"It was written in the seventies," Merton said, as if that explained anything. "And, actually, I've heard it whispered that the makers were hoping for a sequel, so they didn't really intend for their movie to have an unhappy ending - they just wanted people to put pressure on the studio to let them make a second part. Unfortunately, that didn't work out so well, so they never _made_ that sequel. One of the authors died a few weeks after the movie's first showing - he got hit by a falling flowerpot."

"Great." Tommy groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Anything useful in that book?"

"Not ... really." Merton closed the book and sighed. "Several tips on how to make good fertilizer for your garden, and how to talk to plants and trees, but walking sunflowers? Nothing."

"How to talk to plants?" Tommy lifted his head. "That sounds useful."

Merton grabbed a slim volume, opened it and read out loud: " 'You are my friends, and I love you very much. I promise I will take good care of you for the rest of my life, change your soil and pot regularly, and give you water whenever you need it.' Thus speaks the Society of Green Thumbed Plant Lovers. Sorry, Tommy, but I don't think that's going to help us."

"I thought you didn't have any plants," Tommy said.

Merton folded his hands. "Well, no, I don't. Any plant I ever tried to take care of - 'try', needless to say, being the operative word here - died in a few days. I'm not even sure why I kept some of these books, except that they don't take up a lot of space, and it seems a shame to just throw them away."

"I don't suppose there's some phone-number in that booklet we could call?"

Merton sent him a pitying look. "Tommy, if you tell these people your town is being overrun by sunflowers, I don't think they're going to believe you. Besides, it was published five years ago, so even if there would be a phone-number, I doubt if it'd still be valid."

"Can't hurt to try," Tommy said. "Unless you've got a better plan?"

Merton sighed and re-opened the booklet.

 

"Okay, I've got some good news, and I've got some bad news," Tommy said as he returned from making a call to one S. G. T. Peterson, the secretary of the current president of the Society for Green Thumbed Plant Lovers. "Which do you want first?"

"That depends on how good the good news is, and how bad the bad news."

"The bad news is that Peterson vanished about half a year ago, and his replacement doesn't have any idea where he went or why he left. Nobody knew him very well, nobody knew where he lived, nobody knew _anything_ about him. He just showed up one day and said he needed a job, so they made him secretary. Five months after his appearance, the then-president got hit by a falling flowerpot, but because they didn't have anyone else who wanted the job, they just let this Peterson guy take care of things - he said he'd quit if they tried to make him president."

"And this would be bad news, because?" inquired Merton.

"Because I'm pretty sure Peterson's that guy in a funny costume who made that speech about plants having got nothing to lose but their pots. Supposedly, a few days before he vanished, someone saw him talking to a begonia."

"I'd think that talking to plants would be pretty normal for this kind of people," Merton commented.

"He was telling it that a certain member of the Society, one Mrs. Vertura, hadn't been taking proper care of her orchids, and that it should 'take action'." Tommy grimaced.

"Let me guess: she died of a falling flowerpot the next week."

"No, but it was a close call, and she's now on an extended vacation to the Sahara."

Merton nodded, as if this was perfectly logical. "What's the good news?"

"Anti-sunflower-fertilizer," Tommy said. "I got the recipe."

  


 _two days later_

" 'In unlikely local news, several inhabitants of Pleasantville have reported that their sunflowers have gone missing overnight. The police suspect this to be a simple prank, although a few fingers have been pointed at the so-called Pleasantville Werewolf, who is supposedly stalking the streets of this otherwise perfectly normal American town.' "

Dean grunted a 'good afternoon' as Tommy walked into the living room, not taking his eyes off the TV, which was now showing pictures of the snowstorm that had taken several hundreds of inhabitants of Summerville by complete surprise, considering that it was early summer.

Tommy watched the images for a few moments, before deciding he had enough problems in his own town without worrying about freak-incidents that happened elsewhere.

 

Merton stared in dismay at the bunch of roses in his hands, which were already beginning to look like they'd had their best time, in spite of the fact he'd only bought them a few hours ago (and they'd cost him quite a bit, too).

"You uh ..." Tommy stared at the roses as if wondering what they were.

Merton hastily thrust them at him. "In the language of flowers, this means something very sentimental and sweet, which I'm not going to say, because I know you know. And it wouldn't fit my image, anyway."

"Uhm, thanks. I think." Tommy frowned, then handed them back.

"Is that your way of saying 'sorry, I did not remember it's been six months since Lori knocked our heads together and made us confess' or have I just been dumped?" Merton asked.

"No, no, I didn't forget. I just - "

"You just hadn't remembered it," Merton finished for him.

"Hey!" Tommy protested. "There were sunflowers trying to take over this town. Besides - "

"Besides, you really wanted to slam me against a wall and kiss me? Not to be a bother or anything, but I bruise pretty easily, and - "

"And you talk too much," said Tommy.

(Neither of them quite heard the crash as a small, plastic flowerpot hit the pavement and bumped up and down a few times before rolling harmlessly into the sewer.)


End file.
